


Dragonfuck

by Anonymous



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, Vinland Saga (Anime), Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pern Fusion, Body Worship, Bottomphobia, Brother/Brother Incest, Green Rider/Brown Rider, M/M, Mating Flight (Dragonriders of Pern), Pern-typical consent issues, Sibling Incest, Slut Shaming, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Torgrim has some ideas about his brother's first mating flight that end up borne out by fact.
Relationships: Atli/Torgrim (Vinland Saga), Mob/Atli (Vinland Saga)
Kudos: 3
Collections: Anonymous





	Dragonfuck

**Author's Note:**

> Did a little handwaving to have Atli flying his dragon before she's officially mature, but who cares. The dragons are basically the daemons from the HDM AU; I used the same names as a basis. I didn't bother with accurate dragonrider names (T'grim? T'li??) because, as the stick man said when the flower asked to be watered with pee, "I... am _not_ doing that."
> 
> @vincestsaga on twitter for more brocontent 👍

  
It's not customary, or even common, to be drunk the first time your dragon rises. Atli's gently tipsy, though, and most of the men around him have had a drink or two. One is customary. Plenty of green riders need one. With all these eyes on him, Atli's not sure why it isn't more.

But this is what you know's going to happen to you, as soon as you Impress a green. The greens are about half of all the dragons, and the men and women—mostly men—who Impress them can't stop them rising just because they're not fertile. And, too, the men of the Weyr need somewhere to vent. Something to vent into. What with how few women are around. So this is what has to happen.

These stares, though, are so much hotter than he thought they'd be. It's unavoidable, with their dragons ambling round Soleth in the courtyard. He can feel her, feeling rather pleased with herself.

But she can fly, of course.

"Don't ruin it for yourself, lad!" An arm blocks his own arm from lifting a fresh drink, pinning it seemingly without effort. "You'll want to be able to perform."

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I will." Atli lets go of the mug and stares at his own hand on the stone counter, hoping the man will free him before he has to try to free himself. Wishing, not for the first time, that he was built a little more like—

"You ain't _nervous,_ are you, now?" Another man pulls him backwards so hard he stumbles. Now looking upwards at someone's beard—he doesn't recognize the man from this angle—Atli wishes the first man had had a better grip of his arm.

"No! Not at all. It's just good drink."

"Nobody likes hurting our green riders." A third arm feels his chest through the light material of his shirt, actually grazing his nipple. The hand doesn't lift.

"And we all know to be extra gentle with you," the bearded man says, stroking around the top of his pants, worming a single finger down the waistband.

"It's good drink," Atli says, breathless. "I-I know nobody's..."

Soleth's enjoying the male dragons snapping at her and stretching their wings, with more and more purpose each time they stretch. But she doesn't like what she's feeling from her rider. It's not like anything's out of order— _no, of course not_ —and anyway, if he's panicking like this, there's only one thing to be done. And he knows well enough what that is.

"Brother," Atli gasps, aware that his mouth is oddly dry for someone so tipsy. "My—you haven't seen my..." He struggles to form the words for what he wants. He can't call out, because he made Torgrim promise—

"Yeah, exactly. We respect him, you know." Someone, not the man holding him tight, speaks right into Atli's ear. The alcohol on his breath isn't heavy. It's the closeness that makes Atli recoil. He's trying to stay calm, but his knees are shaking and he's scared he'll fall over if the bearded man lets him go.

"Whoever gets you's gonna be real careful." Somebody traces his jawline with a calloused hand and Atli closes his eyes.

_Torgrim, please—_

The aura of sweat hanging around him feels like another man entirely, impossibly large and reaching inside him to feel around in there. It's impossible to open his eyes back up. He's completely overpowered in front of everyone, and his dragon's heat is going to make him enjoy it. They're doing this because the front of his pants is asking them to. They're all going to have him on the floor before she even takes off, and it won't matter whose dragon catches her. He's already caught.

"Time's up." The hand on his face jerks away, accompanied by a grunt, and a new one catches him by the arm. "Come on, fuck off. All of you."

A thump shakes him and the bearded man's arms arms around him vanish—he staggers, the way he knew he would, and a big arm catches him, keeping him from falling.

"Come on," the voice says sharply, and Atli follows, relief fanning warmly through his belly as he stumbles blindly along with his savior. He doesn't need to open his eyes. His brother's big enough to clear a path.

They've never looked much alike, except for the eyes. It's unusual for blood brothers to spend so much time together, especially grown ones in different Wings. But Atli's always liked having someone _like him_ , among all the other boys wandering the Weyr's caverns. And they get along. Torgrim was always pleased to see him squeezing into a crowd of the older boys his brother was popular with. He'd even come pick Atli out of the younger boys and ask if he was really happy hanging out with a bunch of kids. He treated Atli like the DNA they shared meant more than how old he was, or what color dragon he Impressed.

Right now, Atli feels like a very small boy. It's been ages since Torgrim had to jump in and rescue him. It's embarrassing, but that's not the only reason heat is coursing up the back of his neck. He doesn't want to let any noise out—not in front of everybody—but his brother's here, one arm around him, moving him forward. He moans as softly as he can and opens his eyes to the fuzzy walls of the Weyr's halls. They've traveled further than he thought.

"In here." Torgrim pulls him sideways, nearly tripping him, and for a moment his feet are in the air. Not as fun a way to fly as his green. But he lands all right, with no idea how long he was up, and as he tries to catch his breath, he hears a door slam shut.

"Thanks," Atli mutters. "Sorry. I didn't mean to yell."

"Stubborn fool!" Torgrim squeezes his shoulders tight with both hands. "Holy fucking eggshells, I was about to kill someone."

He promised to stay away. "I was going to handle it myself. Soleth's just... she's making things difficult. She's thinking about herself."

And who does he think called to his brother's dragon? Soleth wants to know. As if she'd let him come to harm over a mating flight.

 _Sorry,_ Atli tells her, trying to keep his eyes fixed on the grey wall behind his brother.

"Shit. Amr. His _fucking_ hands on you. I am gonna kill him." Torgrim reaches for his cheek and then halts his own hand with a soft oath.

"Don't kill anyone. It's just a mating flight." Atli looks at the other walls, all equally grey. There's a pile of straw with some blankets in the corner. A wooden chair that looks to have broken a few times. The door's not substantial, but it closes all the way. That's what's between them and the rest of the Weyr, he thinks, and shrinks behind his brother without meaning or wanting to. "Where are we?"

"Older green riders come here if they've got someone picked out already." Torgrim pounds the door. "It locks well enough, don't you worry. They'll go down to the lower caverns for release before they struggle with a lock. No one wants complicated with his cock in his hand. Sit down, fool, you're shaking."

He's not shaking that badly, but Torgrim can make him sit down, and has. He considers it his right as a blood brother, and no other blood brothers have ever told them otherwise. Atli sits down quickly. He's already been embarrassed enough.

It's not a question of him being small, exactly. Especially not compared to the way his brother's dragon dwarfs his Soleth. His brother's just bigger. Broader shoulders, wider chest, stronger arms. He can't completely push Atli around wherever he wants, but it's a near thing. Usually there's no reason to fight back.

He's certainly glad right now for whatever happened deep down in their DNA to make them like this. When Torgrim backs him up, he's never in danger. He just wishes the spiral they share could've spared a bit more _bulk_ for him.

"I thought I'd handle it. I didn't know they'd all be... all around me."

"It's a heat. They can hardly help themselves. But now they've got started they'll go for the quickest way. Anyhow—" he sits down beside Atli, legs splayed all over as usual. "I just carried you off. They know when they're beat."

Atli looks down at his brother's hand where it covers his on the straw.

_"Look, I'm not having you turn out like one of those—you know." Torgrim makes a dismissive flapping gesture. "Light-riders."_

_"I'm not." The accusation stings. Atli's never changed how he acts just because a green picked him. He can still last just as long when they wrestle, and he carries all his own gear. He doesn't get any of the attention some green riders are starting to, and he doesn't ask for it. "I'm not, at all!"_

_"Yeah, well." Torgrim directs a stony glare at one of the green riders, who's older than the both of them. "You're not to go slutting around the Weyr when Soleth starts rising."_

_Atli rather likes Tyki, but he stares at him nervously. He doesn't know about these things the way his brother does. Tyki is carrying his gear, a bit awkwardly, through the yard. He does get help with it more often than not, but he's an easygoing man. There's usually a friend around wherever he goes._

_"You come to me for her first mating flight," Torgrim says, not sounding any less serious. "I'll take care of everything."_

_There must be something wrong with Atli to think what he does at that moment. He gives Torgrim a quick, reflexive glance of shock, but Torgrim doesn't turn to look at him. He's supposed to have sex on the brain at his age, and he does, so instead of embarrassing them both by asking—because then his brother would know what he **thought** —he stares down at Tyki._

_Lots of greens sleep around, but his brother says the riders who flirt are embarrassing themselves. He doesn't want Atli acting like that. And Atli isn't going to. Greens rise, but he knows how to keep from making a fool of himself._

Torgrim's hand squeezes.

"You... you were serious?"

"I let you try it your way, didn't I? I told Gulleth I wasn't going to have you angry at me." Torgrim puts an arm around him. No different from the way he always does. "He wouldn't've let me _leave_ even if I wanted to, but I was staying well back."

"I think," Atli says helplessly, "I think I did turn out like one of those green riders." Torgrim has a right to know. "I always thought I'd just stay calm and get through it, with the winner, but they started touching me and I couldn't... I—I think I was going to like it."

"No, no, it's not you. They know how to climb all over the first-timers and give themselves an edge. Fucking blue riders. It's 'cos they know their dragons won't stand a chance against the browns."

"I'm still hard. From them." His brother's arm around him isn't helping. And even though Torgrim is offering he can't think _what_ right now, it feels impossible to look him in the eyes.

"Nooo, no no, sweetheart. It's the dragons. You're on fire." Torgrim squeezes him and the _sweetheart_ makes something in his stomach jump and start to burn. "You've never tried to make her fly another green, you wouldn't know, but the things I've seen on first-time flights... I knew that wasn't my baby brother."

His brother is a little bit drunk, and Soleth is seconds from rising. And his brother's brown is waiting for her. Has been, this whole time.

"Can we?" Atli turns, very slightly, and Torgrim nuzzles the side of his face, smelling faintly of alcohol. It smells nice on him. "Aren't there rules? Will there be trouble?"

"What'll they do, send away two good workers?" Torgrim doesn't paw at his chest or reach into his pants, just strokes his hand a bit. "Anyway, you can leave, but—" he laughs too loud in Atli's ear and Atli pulls away, wincing— "if somebody takes you, I'll kill him and definitely get sent away, so there's that."

"You mean you'll break his nose a little."

"No, actually fucking kill him." Torgrim's voice is mild. "Right now I'm thinking I'll just rip off every arm I had to watch sliming all over my little brother."

Atli feels about as breathless as he did covered in the hands of strange men, but it's easier to speak this time. "I think I'd like you killing someone, actually, but," and he rocks forward on the edge of the straw, helpless as Soleth stretches her wings for the final time, "oh, fuck. I want to stay here."

"That's my boy!" Torgrim crows. "No harm in a little bloodshed. See, you could've Impressed a brown."

"I don't want you in trouble," Atli says, fuzzily. "But, I mean—" he turns and his forehead meets his brother's. "I do want you even if it means trouble. Sorry."

"Of course." Torgrim sounds equally fuzzy. It could be the drink or the dragons. "And speaking of browns, Gulleth's flying her no matter what." He laughs, at a more moderate volume this time. "I can't do anything about that."

"She doesn't want anyone else," Atli admits.

As she's been telling him all along.

She's pleased with herself, anyway. Everybody's attention is on her, and she likes the idea of putting them through their paces. When her wings move this time it's a flap that takes her up, and the blues and browns pacing around her are hardly slower. Torgrim catches at his hand with a gasp and Atli knows Gulleth was in the air at the same moment as his green. Just like he and his brother talk more than most brothers, their dragons speak to and _feel at_ each other more often than most dragons.

"Is there anything special we've got to do? For them, I mean?" He knows his brother's flown a green or two. Brown riders don't have to wait for a special first flight.

Torgrim pulls him in. "Nothing in particular. They like a good cumshot at the end, but that takes care of itself."

Atli's fooled around, he's no social reject, but green riders aren't much fun for men or women before their first flight. If your dragon's in the back of your head the whole time, totally disinterested, it's not easy to see the whole thing through. And he always worried a bit that his brother would consider it slutting around.

This time it's like being lit on fire from the inside. His brother's lips are so gentle on his that he has to _push_ to get closer, and Torgrim makes an approving noise. He's dressed light for his first flight, and the hands playing on his chest and arms are nothing like the ones from before.

It's his brother he's dressed light for. He put these clothes on so his big brother could strip them off. The thin layers of cloth between their bodies are an annoyance, and Torgrim's hands are never truly rough with him—but he wishes they would be. His skin almost hurts, wanting to feel the air and the heat of other hands. His brother's hands.

A frustrated groan rises in his throat, feeling the fabric of their tops scraping together without yielding. "Brother—"

Torgrim traces his shoulder blade with a chuckle. "Yeah. What're you gonna do?"

He can't tell where his brother's dragon is, but Soleth's so pleased with the flight that Gulleth must be keeping up. Dragons can feel the wind on their skin too, when the air rushes past them fast enough, more like a pressure on the leathery skin than the cool rush a human would feel. She wants to speed up. More air pushing harder. His brother's arms have never held him this close before, and Atli presses forward just as his dragon does, squeezing into the softness of his brother's chest and belly. When he pulls back, gasping for air, he finds his hands on the straw, next to Torgrim's shoulders.

"That's it. No fairy shit." Torgrim looks up at him approvingly. "Some of these green riders, you know. They never put any muscle on. You're not like them."

Atli hesitates. "You want me to—?"

"Yeah. Fill me up. Nice clutch of inbred eggs." He tilts his head back and laughs a little too long, and it comes to Atli that his brother is a touch more drunk than he is. "Don't worry, she'll be getting fucked all right."

She's well aware of that. Right now she's showing off, darting and spinning, far enough ahead of her pursuers that the maneuvers don't serve any purpose. Just because she won't be turning out a clutch of eggs doesn't mean she doesn't have her pride.

Of course, greens rise so often that one might almost think they enjoy wearing themselves out, just to be caught sooner.

"She's the finest green in any Weyr. Gulleth told me that's what she'd be, when she picked you out. You're the only one we had to worry about." Torgrim reaches up to touch his jaw. "You kept getting prettier and prettier, and I thought, I might have to kill someone over this boy."

"But you don't mind? Brown riders don't..."

"Well, you're the one who went and Impressed a green, so I didn't have much choice, do I?" Torgrim grins, the way he grins only at Atli. "It's all right. I'm taking care of my brother."

"Okay," Atli manages. He's never heard of anyone doing this for a blood brother, or for a foster brother. Only his brother cares this much about him.

Torgrim's ankles cross behind him, the balls of his feet pressing gently into the small of Atli's back, and he pulls just hard enough to make Atli rock forward for a second. "Come on, little boy. Make me stop worrying. You do know what you're about?"

"Of course I know." Atli hesitates, his mind blanking on the next step. "I just have to... I didn't bring anything to help. Do we have to stop?"

"Good, good!" Torgrim doesn't seem at all put off. "You know some of them carry lube _around_ with them? Not for keeping their dragon's skin from cracking. Just for fucking. You don't think like that."

"I should have." It was a mating flight. He'd had a very vague image of dragon heat taking over, followed by a blur of sex with some faceless body. He's not sure quite what it feels like, getting fucked without lube, but the thought is enough to make Soleth snort with discomfort inside his head. She's not in the mood for him to intrude with thoughts like that. "I thought I'd planned for everything."

"You're a dragon man." The proud, tipsy roll of his brother's words is enough to make Atli feel reasonably intelligent again. "You weren't thinking about submitting to anyone. That's my blood in there."

"I'll spit," Atli decides, not feeling capable of getting up to check the room for hidden lube.

Torgrim spits helpfully into his hand when he holds it out, without needing to be asked. The mingled saliva might have come from one man. The same way their blood would. Soleth takes a brief interest in the subject of blood, then reminds him that she's about ready to be claimed.

"Right," he says absently, out loud. She's not anticipating the future the way Atli is, in the very small part of himself not suffused with heat. That's not the way dragons think. She simply knows something good is coming, and the mate she wants is near her, waiting. Nor is she curious about the specifics of the pleasure to come. She's hardly thought of sex in her life until a scant few hours previous. Her body's informed her that she wants to fly, and be chased, and be taken. By the brown dragon flown by her rider's brother. It's a nice simple way of feeling, and Atli allows it to flow into the front of his mind—though he's quietly thankful that she's not passing on her desire to be mated publicly.

He's undone almost immediately by the softness of his brother's thighs, and Torgrim laughs at him. Soleth's impatience is the only thing that moves his hand. Moving on to the buttocks, he finds them even softer. It's nothing like the feeling he used to get when Torgrim rolled over to warm him in the sleeping straw. That was the front. A safe feeling he's missed since they started sleeping with their respective Wings. This, he wants to knead. For hours, if possible.

"Baby." Torgrim lifts his legs amiably up onto Atli's shoulders. "Come on, Gulleth's about to pounce."

Soleth allows Gulleth to wait, patiently, for Torgrim to feel that matters are set up properly, and then, with a switch of her tail, reminds him that she's done quite enough waiting on men today. Not quite twice her size, he closes on her in seconds from the respectful distance he's maintained. Atli puts his hands down on the straw next to Torgrim's hips.

His brother's hands touch at the sensitive skin of his wrists, then squeeze gently, steadying his arms. "Hah. There you go." His voice is thick, and it takes Atli a moment to hear the words. Soleth and Gulleth hit the ground together, both pleased by the impact.

Looking down, he finds his brother's front of much more interest than it used to be, lying together in the straw. Belly and breasts move with each of his thrusts, sometimes accompanied by a grunt he's not used to hearing from Torgrim. The thought passes fleetingly that he should let Soleth know it's almost like steering a dragon. But she's not much interested in thoughts of any kind right now, and it leaves his head, replaced with her intense enjoyment of the different types of bites she's learning about right now.

Atli can't get down far enough to bite his brother's tits, but the way they're moving is fascinating enough. Not as heavy as a woman's, but his brother's always been soft to the touch—when he's touching Atli, anyway—and his pubic hair curves up pleasantly along an arch of flesh much more convex than the one almost pressing against it. If Torgrim were a bit bigger, they'd be able to touch there. Atli pushes experimentally, almost more excited to see if he can get their bellies to touch than by how it feels on his cock.

It does feel nice on his cock, though, and while he can't quite get his belly down to Torgrim's, he's rewarded with a howl from his brother. "Ah, fuck! That's it, harder."

As fuzzy as his mental faculties are, it's an easy command to take in. It's the same sentiment Soleth's broadcasting right into his brain, and Gulleth's just as happy as he is to obey.

He's been watching Torgrim's tits move—and his belly, and his Adam's apple, and the way his eyes screw closed before blinking back open, always up to Atli's eyes—he's been watching his brother for some amount of time when Torgrim starts up and grabs him, dropping his legs to the straw and pulling Atli down so close he can't thrust for a few seconds. A purr echoing through his brain tells him that's Gulleth spilling himself inside Soleth. Something spurts up, touching softly against his chest and belly, and a warm, melting glow in his brain keeps him stiller than the arms holding him. He just made his brother come.

His hips twitch, not in a deliberate thrust, but helplessly, at the wrong angle for Torgrim to enjoy—but he's done already. They're both done. A little noise comes out of him as Soleth's pleasure takes her. Torgrim's arm curls around his neck, and for a few minutes he and his green are held and petted, minds too empty and warm to contribute anything more to the mating flight.

"You can do what you like in the future, of course, but I couldn't let anyone at you this first time. It's so important." Torgrim runs a hand through his hair.

Right now Soleth's drowsy contentment is making it very hard to want anything in the future except his brother dragging him out of crowded rooms and fucking him loudly, on a regular basis. She and Gulleth are nuzzling and sharing soft draconic feelings back and forth. He and his green have been flown well, the both of them.

"It's like an Impression, almost. And you know you're so—you take too well to instruction sometimes."

"Can I suck on your tits?" The thought resurfaces now that his mind's been returned to him. Soleth sends him a moment of confusion over the very mammalian mental image, then allows him his own enjoyment, just as she has a number of light marks left in her neck by sharp fangs.

"Well." Torgrim seems equally confused, mammal though he is. "If you want. You don't have to call them that."

"I want to." Atli answers both statements at the same time. "They feel so nice."

"Ah." His brother hisses softly at the scrape of his teeth. "Look, who taught you this?"

"Soft." Atli reaches down for his thighs, trying to keep himself from chewing. He can picture the marks left on Soleth's neck from the _feeling_ she's sending, and he needs to ask if brown riders are supposed to let their partners leave marks, or if it'll ruin Torgrim's standing to have bites and bruises left all over his chest and belly.

"I did have to." A slight agitation in Torgrim makes the dragons startle, flapping slow and uncomfortable where they lie on the ground. "You know, I think about someone else lying here with you and I want to kill him. If he was rough with you, if he turned you into some—some kind of..."

"The dragons decide," Atli reminds him. "She wanted her brother."

"She's got a lot of brothers."

"Don't call my dragon a slut." Atli presses into him, demanding to be squeezed closer. "He's her favorite. Touch my hair again."

Torgrim obliges, grunting occasionally as Atli feels his belly and pushes rhythmically into his thighs with his own smaller ones, like treading water. "You weren't this weird when you were a kid."

Soleth is too sated for either of them to feel amorous again for a while. This is entirely about the nights he's missed since his brother first Impressed and stopped sleeping with him in the common straw. Torgrim is warmer than anything but the sun-baked hide of his own Soleth. And—with all apologies to Soleth—his skin's much softer.

"And anyway," Atli says, half to himself, "we've got other brothers and sisters too."

Torgrim's snort is a pleasant puff on his face. Their blood siblings were fostered in other Weyrs. Atli's met them a few times. He'd expected the same ease of company he's always had with Torgrim, and found them friendly but disappointingly like every other rider of their Weyr and his. He knows they must be blonde, but other than that he can't summon their faces without intense thought. Now's no time for intense thought.

"When I say, 'my brother,' I'm talking about Atli the green rider, and everyone knows it."

"And Soleth means brown Gulleth."

"All right, all right!" Torgrim says, both to him and to Gulleth, who must be growing annoyed by his rider's doubt. "I'm sorry." That to Gulleth alone, but Atli doesn't mind. A dragon's different from a brother.

Their dragons have always liked sharing feelings. And it's no small benefit to the two of them to have a midair warning in their dragon's head before their own eyes can catch up with a piece of Thread in the corner of their eye. Perhaps the mated bronze and gold of a Weyrleader and -Woman would do the same, if they flew at the same heights. The thought puts him in mind of being true Weyrmates with his brother.

"I miss sleeping with you," he tells Torgrim, curling a lock of chest hair around his finger. "Can't you get me put in your Wing?" It's only when Soleth puts the same question to Gulleth, neck twining round his entreatingly, that he realizes how flirty they're being. It must be some kind of green instinct. After all of Torgrim's effort.

To his surprise, all Torgrim says is, "Yeah, of course," with a reassuring stroke of his hair. "You've just been assigned. They work so well together, it makes sense to shift them closer. I'll switch to yours if there's no green in mine who wants to move."

His brother's extremely easy to flirt with, given the proper motivation. Atli reflects that he'll have to be careful not to misuse it—and gives Soleth strict instructions not to let Gulleth know, either. It would only bruise Torgrim's self-esteem to learn that about himself.

Soleth registers the command, and remarks that after a good flight and a good shag, she's ready for a good nap. And, she understands, humans like to do the same. Her brother's drowsing already, wings drooping over her.

Torgrim yawns. "You don't mind sleeping here?" Gulleth must be nearly silent in his head. "Don't know how often the women get around to washing these blankets."

"I like it in here. Keep bringing me."

"I'll take you to my quarters. There's kind of a smell in here. You start to notice it when the dragons aren't in flight. Well," he adds, "if you don't mind people—knowing."

"Soleth wants it." It seems impossible now that anyone could want to stop his brother from taking such good care of him. No one ever minded how they were before, unusual as it was. Atli nestles his head under Torgrim's chin. "What can I do if she's chosen? Anyway, they all saw your dragon take her."

Torgrim sighs with satisfaction. "Oh, they saw, all right. They should've tried harder to split us up. They can hardly blame us now." He adjusts his grip on Atli, his wrists slackening for just a moment, but long enough for Atli to feel faintly lonely. "And you got so pretty. But strong, too, not too much in either direction. Knowing that's _my_ blood in there making you like that, it's too much for any man to resist."

Torgrim is both handsome and much stronger than Atli, but there's not much point gushing to him about that. Atli can't help worshipping him, and he knows it. He's never gone to anyone else for help when he needs it. And his big brother's never not been there to help. They might well have become Weyrmates some night in their sleep, lying cuddled together in the straw almost as close as they are now, long before either of them Impressed. Maybe that shaped the dragons they wound up with.

Soleth's very pleased to be here now, of course. It's always best if the riders get along too, she tells him, suddenly very wise in her newfound full maturity. No ugly feelings afterwards. She's quite safe with her brother, so Atli can get all the sleep he wants with his.

 _I'm quite safe too, dear,_ Atli tells her before breathing out a long, contented breath into Torgrim's warm chest, and dozing off with his own brother's arms around him.


End file.
